


where the poppies bloom

by brokenskies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Oikawa Tooru, Drama & Romance, Eventual or not so eventual smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have no idea of japanese history, Iwaizumi is a military officer go figure, Kind of during the war era, M/M, Oikawa may be a bit OOC at times, Slow Build, adding tags as I go, excessive tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenskies/pseuds/brokenskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aren't they beautiful?" He laughed as he spread out his arms, spinning amidst the field of crimson.</p><p> </p><p>"Very. But poppies are destructive too, you know."</p><p>---------</p><p>Iwaizumi was extremely busy with his training and meetings with the other officers in the military. </p><p>Oikawa busied himself with his art, brushstroke after brushstroke of his emotions and thoughts painted onto blank canvasses, dashes of bold colour and pastels. A pair of hands- fingers spread wide, splayed across the space on the canvas. The skin tan brown, fingers marred by well placed scars- each Oikawa knew by heart- those hands he loved so well. </p><p>Scars from physical training with swords and fists, scars from carving knives gliding out of place, cutting into skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this came about but at least it caught your attention. Fingers crossed that I write this properly even though it's like 3 am forgive me if it sucks. 
> 
> A bit of violence here idek if it counts when it's just almost tattooing but more painful so heads up.

He ran his fingers down Oikawa's bare back until it was arched, spine stretched taut like a bowstring. He had peeled Oikawa's yukata down to his hips, exposing his shoulder all the way to the curve of them. 

He picked up the tools and got to work on the milky white canvas of Oikawa's back, etching the shape of delicate petals into the soft skin. Oikawa groaned as the sharp pain hit him and felt his back slowly growing numb as each stroke of the tool cut into him. It hurt so much that he could imagine his blood colouring the whole thing crimson. He frowned. It was the wrong shade after all...

Oikawa woke up. He must have blacked out from the excruciating pain of it. He blinked his eyes and was surprised by the tears that dripped onto the tatami floor. The cloth beside him was stained red with his blood by now and Oikawa can't help but to think how different the red of blood was from the red of his favourite flower. Although they were both red. Perhaps that was just his way of trying to deal with the pain. The needle came after the carving tool, lining the design with vivid colour. He could have simply inked the flowers onto Oikawa's back but he chose to do it this way. It felt more permanent this way. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, Oikawa felt his presence lean away. A warm damp cloth was gently dabbed across the small of his back, making him hiss in pain and surprise. Iwaizumi finally stood up to gaze at his handiwork with keen eyes. It was of poppies, some coming into full bloom, others with browned edges, petals slowly giving way. The flowers formed a perfect circle, contrasting starkly against the paleness of Oikawa's skin. The carving gave the flowers so much added depth and detail that it almost felt like Iwaizumi could reach out to pluck the poppies off his back. He was satisfied with his work. 

"I drew your favourite poppies onto your back. Take it as my gift to you. Oikawa." 

 

* * *

 

 

Once upon a time, they were childhood friends, the both of them. One born to a high ranking military officer, the other born to a servant of the Iwaizumi household. Yet, they were inseparable as children regardless and because they were children, they could be allowed to be together. Day by day, they grew up and day by day their relationship became closer and stranger and more wonderful than ever. 

Both of them possessed talent and flair for art, one with paints and brushes, the other with carving knives and sculptures. Both had an uncanny eye for colour. Both of them wanted to be artists when they graduated from high school. Unfortunately, one was not destined for that life. 

Iwaizumi soon became the youngest general of their time, at the young age of 18, admired and revered by all. Apparently he too had a flair for strategy and warfare. That was considered as useful by his father.

Art was not useful. By that time, they were no longer what they were before. Oikawa could only admire him from afar, the childhood friend he held dear and loved. At least he knew that Iwaizumi was doing well. 

They were admitted into the same university, an act of generosity by Iwaizumi's father. The school was a really prestigious one, full of students from families of high social status. Oikawa was disallowed from interacting with Iwaizumi from then on. So he could only peer at him in the corridors. Eyes always searching for a black spiky head. Iwaizumi was obviously unhappy with the orders given to Oikawa, constantly looking for a head of artfully messy brown hair in school but as he was brought up by his father, he knew better than to question orders. 

But of course, Oikawa's beauty was unmatched and he stood above the crowd, with his pale skin and his long, delicate fingers, attractive brown eyes hidden behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses. Oikawa tried his very best to not attract attention to himself. He avoided all advances from girls and guys alike, tilting his head and flashing a polite smile, albeit apologetically at the fangirls who follow him around. The few times he met Iwaizumi on the school compound, he fled, because of his strict orders and because he did not want to sully Iwaizumi's reputation if he was caught interacting with a commoner like himself. 

Soon, Iwaizumi gave up trying to spot Oikawa in school. Besides, he looked like he was doing pretty well without Iwaizumi, popular as he was with the other students. Outside of school, Iwaizumi was extremely busy with his training and meetings with the other officers in the military. Oikawa busied himself with his art, brushstroke after brushstroke of his emotions and thoughts painted onto blank canvasses, dashes of bold colour and pastels, a pair of hands, fingers spread wide, splayed across the space on the canvas, skin a tan brown, fingers marred by well placed scars, each Oikawa knew by heart, those hands he loved so well. Scars from physical training with swords and fists, scars from carving knives gliding out of place, cutting into skin. 

Oikawa never saw him after graduation. 

 

 

Oikawa woke, rubbing his eyes blearily. His fingers brushed across the floor by his futon, searching for his glasses. He didn't need the glasses, not really, but he wore them anyway. 

It has been long since he dreamt of Iwaizumi, not since graduation, and that had been two years ago. For some reason, he was feeling really nostalgic today as he dressed in his favourite colour, putting on a poppy red yukata. Stalking into the kitchen with a yawn, he put water to boil, adding more firewood to the softly glowing pile so that he got a good fire going. He busied himself with arranging his brushes in the studio as he waited for his water. The studio looked beautiful somehow with the sunlight streaming in through the translucent paper of the sliding doors. Dust motes danced in the air, bouncing off every surface, including the tip of Oikawa's nose. The room wasn't large, lined with four by five tatami mats. With sliding doors on each side, one opening up to the yard and the rest to the other rooms and the main corridor. 

The studio was a mess, with paints and brushes strewn about the floor which was stained with a myraid of pigments. Easels were stacked haphazardly to one side of the room by the cupboards and Oikawa's current works were around the room, waiting patiently on their respective easels. Right in the middle of the room, however, was a circle of untouched space, an easel stood there, a painting on display, a painting of a field of blood red poppies. It gave off an air of loneliness, a cruel solitude, despite it's fragile beauty. 

The kettle rattled and Oikawa abandoned his brushes for the prospect of a cup of good, fragrant tea.

He remembered the first time they found it. The field of flowers, each one of them round and perfect and flaming red.

They had been exploring in the woods and came across the old shrine, abandoned and forgotten, emerald moss climbing up one side and adamant ivy winding up the other. Sunlight was coming through the foliage above and lighting up the crumbling shrine in all the right places, putting the rest of it into shadows and dark hollows. It lent the whole place a sense of mystery and magnificence, pulling the two boys straight into the heart of it. They were both ten years old then. Iwaizumi was the one who lead them to the flowers as he pulled on Oikawa's hand through the courtyard and out the back of the shrine, where they were greeted by the sight of the brilliant flowers. Oikawa remembered fondly that he dropped the bag containing his art supplies in his other hand as he was overcome with awe and something else at the whole view. The field of fiery red poppies bobbing their heads in the cool breeze and dancing as if they had souls within them. It was breathtakingly beautiful. The field of poppies. He decided then and there that he loved poppies. The deep crimson of them was such a special shade that he was intrigued.

And also, they were the only ones who knew of this wonderful place and that felt kind of special. They promised to never tell anyone else about this place. It was their place. They laughed and played among the field of red, faces aglow with happiness until it was time to go home. 

Oikawa placed the empty cup onto the table and stood up, faced with a sudden urge to visit the field. He burst out into his yard and trudged out into the woods. When Iwaizumi's father offered to give Oikawa a house of his own for old time's sake (Iwaizumi's father is an honourable man), Oikawa chose the older one because it was situated directly beside the woods. He climbed up the old pathway he knew like the back of his own hand and went deeper into the woods. The path was more overgrown and more difficult to traverse by now and Oikawa found himself sweating and panting as he forged onwards, pushing through the undergrowth. He came half stumbling out into the clearing and headed straight to the back of the old shrine after bowing respectfully at the torii gate. 

It was as beautiful as he remembered and maybe more. The poppies greeted him like an old friend, bright red heads tossing in the wind just like the first time he saw them, scattering their seeds into the breeze. He immediately felt himself calm down, heartbeat slowing. He almost didn't notice the presence beside him. Almost. Without turning, he knew in his heart who it was. It was their special place, after all. 

 

 

Once upon a time, they were a pair of childhood friends who fell in love. Deeply. And they were inseparable. Unfortunately, they were no longer children and had to be separated. Yet the love has never faded between them, they tried to keep what they had between them but what were they to do when they were everything society disapproved. When one was destined to be a great military officer, born of noble blood and the other an ordinary commoner, with extraordinary beauty and extraordinary artistic talents. They drifted. Away from each other. Since they were eighteen. Now they are twenty three. 

"Long time no see," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -coughs- sorry if this chapter was a bit slow paced and a bit short, maybe we'll see more words and drama next chapter?


	2. Carmine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa gawked. Iwaizumi just did a perfect impression of his mother. He burst out laughing. Fresh tears formed. But this time, they were from a much better place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More memories and shit, but Oikawa is one nostalgic trash. Sorry for the long wait (if anyone's waiting even)

Oikawa froze. His tongue leaden in his mouth, his throat dry. How long has it been? It felt like forever. His gaze pointedly remained on the red sea of blossoms before him.  _Ah... this brings back memories. Him and I. Here together._

He thought about all the time they had spent together, here. He remembered the time when his dear mother passed away. She was all that he had and she gave him all that she could. Her love was enough for him and he hadn't told her yet and now she was gone. His _only_ family. He was only 15 and no, his mother could not have left him, just like that, and all alone. He had escaped from the house, burst out from that god awful room, the stifling stillness, where all the other servants treated him like he was one of Master Iwaizumi's precious pottery, like he would break apart into a hundred million jagged pieces if he wasn't handled with care. Inside, he felt like maybe he would and then he could cease to be and die and join his mother. Inside the house, he was still waters. He sat there like a sculpture, made from cold, smooth marble. Once he broke out of the house, the stillness became raging seas, tears flowed out, hot and wet. He ran all the way, into the woods and the undergrowth, ignoring the branches catching at his hair, cutting at his cheeks. The nettles biting at his ankles. It hurt. It hurt  _good._ He burst out into the clearing, half stumbling and falling to his knees. He realized that his vision was almost non existent, so blurred out by his tears. He heaved a heavy sob and gasped for air. He knows that he has to calm down. But he can't. Then he heard snapping twigs underfoot, a muffled curse, someone was travelling fast through the woods behind him. He sat up instinctively, alert. Tears were still dripping. Yet he did not care to wipe them from his eyes. He did not care. He could make out something like a pair of black boots approaching. Then the person crouched down in front of him. 

"I knew I would find you here. Shittykawa."

"Where's here?" Oikawa bawled.

"See for yourself." Iwaizumi reached forward and gently cupped Oikawa's cheeks with his hands. Wiping at his eyes with the pads of his thumbs. 

"God. Why are you so ugly when you cry." He said, yet his tone was unbelievably soft. 

Iwaizumi removed his hands, revealing their secret place, their field of poppies. They bobbed their cheerful, crimson heads at Oikawa in greeting. Using his sleeve to wipe the snot from his nose, Oikawa manged a watery smile with a sniffle.

Iwaizumi then smacked him on the back of his head. "You made all the obaa-chans worry you shit. Now let's go back and then you can apologise. Besides, do you think your mother can rest in peace if you're crying day after day, snot-faced and ugly? She would think, 'oh no, where's my pretty baby, where's my Tooru chan!' " 

Oikawa gawked. Iwaizumi just did a perfect impression of his mother. He burst out laughing. Fresh tears formed. But this time, they were from a much better place. 

 

Oikawa smiled a little at the memory. He realized that Iwaizumi always had been the constant in his life, his rock. Stealing a glance from the corner of his eye, he saw that Iwaizumi had settled himself down by a tree, leaning against it as if he had all the time in the world, waiting for Oikawa to be ready to talk to him. He looked devastatingly handsome in his military uniform. Stupid, stupid Iwa chan. Ever so polite and understanding with people. Oikawa froze for a second time at the thought. Iwa chan was never polite with him. Never. His heart clenched so hard he gave a small gasp. The distance between them now was real and all too tangible.

 

On the anniversary of his mother's death, Oikawa returned to his poppies with Iwaizumi. He deeply regretted not showing his mother the sight. His mother would have loved the flowers. He still had so many things he hadn't been able to show his mother. So many things he owed his mother. He missed her so so much. Before he knew it, he tasted salt in his mouth and realized that he was crying. Tears rolling and dripping off his chin. That was when it happened. Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around Oikawa and brought him into an embrace. One hand around his waist, the other gently pressing his head against the crook of his neck. Oikawa was so shocked he stopped crying altogether for a second. Then he crushed Iwaizumi into a bruising hug and bawled into his neck, loud and wet. 

"Iwa chan...." 

"Hush. It's okay to cry but you're so much prettier when you smile. So smile for me, okay? I-"

Iwaizumi blushed suddenly. 

"Eh? Iwa chan, you're blushing!" Oikawa exclaimed. An expression of awe on his tear stained face. "I didn't know Iwa chan could blush!" Oikawa's eyes were round as saucers. 

"Shut up! Shittykawa!"

"It's okay Iwa chan. I will love you anyway."

They both went poppy red, eyes avoiding each other's faces. Arms still locked tightly around one another. They never thought these arms would one day fall loose and let go.

The poppies swayed languidly in the breeze.

 

Oikawa felt another heart wrenching twist. He held in a breath and let it out, long and loud. He pasted on a too bright smile and finally turmed around. 

"Hello, Iwa chan."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Feedback and kudos give me life :') And omg this was super short I know I hope to make it up next chapter!


	3. Carnelian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's alright." He responded. His tone betrayed nothing yet his face said otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm writing this at an ungodly hour sigh... old habits do die hard. So forgive me for any errors. Please enjoy :)

Iwa chan, no,  _Iwaizumi,_ inclined his head in greeting as he stood up and brushed his hands carelessly across his breeches. 

"Oikawa." His voice was not exactly cold, yet it was not warm either. It was as if he had been newly introduced to Oikawa and he was putting on his best poker face, being all cordial and polite with him. 

The politeness cut like a sharp blade. Fine. Two can always play a game.  _If that's what you want, **Iwaizumi.**_

"Yes, Iwaizumi sama, how can I be of service to you?" Oikawa asked in his best 'for acquaintances' voice, adorning his face with a smile equal parts polite and equal parts cold. Oikawa could definitely manage a cold smile, brittle like glass. Glass can cut too.

Iwaizumi faltered, expression slipping for a split second before his features smoothed themselves over and the mask returned. A single second was all Oikawa needed to realize Iwaizumi's hesitation. Oikawa was always perceptive like that. Especially towards Iwaizumi. This in turn made Oikawa's smile falter. Now, he started to notice the nervous twitch at the tips of Iwaizumi's fingers as his arm hung seemingly nonchalant at his side.

Oikawa sighed. He was never good at being normal around Iwaizumi anyway. Whatever normal was. Oikawa thought he was fairly normal. As normal as a passing cloud. As normal as grass. Right. Green grass. A flash of red entered his peripheral vision. He unconsciously tilted his head to the right to chase the colour. Ah. He was as normal as a poppy. The poppies bobbed and waved in the wind, as if in agreement. The smile on his face morphed into a genuine one.  

He momentarily forgot himself and turned back to Iwaizumi with the bright grin still on his face. He took hold of Iwaizumi's arm and shook it in true annoying-kawa fashion. "Look Iwa chan!" Everything was pure muscle memory. It was only the stiffness of Iwaizumi's arm that Oikawa was broken out of his reverie. He immediately snatched his hand off Iwaizumi as if he was burned. Iwaizumi _looked_ like he was burned. 

"Ah. Sorry, Iwaizumi sama. Forgive me." Cool, detached. His heart was beating way too hard in his chest. 

"It's alright." He responded. His tone betrayed nothing yet his face said otherwise. They were definitely not  _alright._ Oikawa thought he saw a shadow of something sweet and familiar cross Iwaizumi's features but he did not dare hope. He did not even dare to dream about it, nor think about it. He would not get hurt if he wasn't hoping. He never wanted to experience that feeling ever again. It wasn't easy trying to fix up all the broken pieces of himself. Oikawa smirked bitterly. That probably was the best understatement of the year.

"Can we talk at your house? Oikawa?" Iwaizumi sounded so unsure that Oikawa winced. He needed to stop comparing this Iwaizumi to his Iwa chan. Years have gone and passed and he has to move on. 

"Of course. If that is what you wish, Iwaizumi sama." He bowed his head respectfully, completely missing the pain that flickered across Iwaizumi's face. As they trudged back through the untamed forest, Oikawa tried his very best to make small talk which ended up with gaps of awkward silence and monosyllabic answers. So eventually they lapsed into a one way conversation of Oikawa's mindless chatter. It was so easy to fall back into old habits.

Iwaizumi was never one for small talk. And Oikawa knew it. 

 

The forgotten cup of tea still lay on the table when they got back. Cold and alone. Oikawa surreptitiously swept a pile of his mess under it with his foot.

"Tea?" He asked. Oikawa certainly needed one badly as he kicked off his sandals and headed to the kitchen area. 

"Tooru?" A gentle voice sounded from the direction he was heading in. Then a face popped out from around the corner. The person had silvery grey hair parted in the middle, it looked like obvious attempts have been made to tame it yet a tuft still stood from the top of his head. His round eyes shone, framed with lashes and a perfectly placed beauty mark at the corner of his left one. 

"Suga!" Oikawa exclaimed in pleasant surprise upon seeing his dear friend's face. "What are you doing here?" 

"Making your tea for you." Suga quipped good naturedly. 

"Really?" Oikawa laughed. It felt good.

"Oikawa?" Iwaizumi called from the main room. 

Oikawa spun around so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. He had almost forgotten about Iwaizumi's presence as he bantered on happily with Suga here in the kitchen. Where it's alight with warm sunshine and the familiar sounds of the kettle rattling resounded in his ears. He heaved a great sigh and turned back around. To his horror, he realized that Suga was no longer in front of him. Suga being Suga, had already sauntered to the main room to see who Oikawa brought in.

Damn Suga and his inquisitiveness. He rushed after Suga to stop him from doing anything that may or may not endanger their lives. It was the general of the military himself out there sitting in his main room... but it was also Iwaizumi. 

He burst into the room. "Suga tell me you didn't say anything that--" his eyes went round. Suga was busy gushing all over Iwaizumi and sending Oikawa knowing looks from the corner of his eyes which were positively glimmering. With what, Oikawa never wants to know. Meanwhile Iwaizumi looked mildly harassed as he sat there on the tatami floor with a stoic posture. 

"Are you Oikawa's roommate?" 

"Eh? Of course not! That guy lives all  _alone_ here!" Suga laughed.

"How are you here, then?" If it were someone else asking the question, he would sound incredibly rude. However because it was Iwaizumi who seemed truly confused and overwhelmed, Suga did not mind. 

"I let myself in-"

"Oooookay Suga." Oikawa managed to cut in. "Why don't you go and make yourself useful somewhere out of the house for a little while first?" He discreetly gave Suga a look with an eyebrow raise and a tilt of his head. 

Suga put up both of his hands in mock surrender and returned his look with a mischievous smirk. "Bye bye you grump. And general." He politely gave a small bow before leaving. 

The room felt so much more empty without Suga's presence. "Oikawa." Iwaizumi's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. 

Suddenly, the cleanliness of his surroundings became of utmost importance as Oikawa scrutinised every surface of his furniture within the room. He did not want to meet Iwaizumi's eyes. 

"Oikawa. Can you please... come closer?" Iwaizumi tried again and Oikawa could not help but notice the subtlest tremble. He inched closer towards Iwaizumi. Whether if it was a conscious effort or not, he did not know. Before he knew it, he was already right in front of Iwaizumi, sitting beside him on the floor. He swallowed. This was the closest they had been physically since years ago. 

"I... Uh-" something seemed to be bothering Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi never stammered. He looked conflicted. There was the small wrinkle between his eyebrows whenever he was worried or stressed out or unhappy. Oikawa's fingers twitched on his lap, itching to smooth it away like he always used to.

"Iwaizumi sama?" It was as if a shutter dropped down on Iwaizumi's expression and the anxiety beforehand disappeared like it was never there. He had finally made his decision. Iwaizumi was always good at controlling himself and his emotions. As a man of the military. 

Unlike Oikawa. 

"Iwa chan...?" He could not keep the tremble in his voice subtle. 

Iwaizumi visibly tensed up as he slowly reached forward and stroked Oikawa's cheek. His fingers barely made contact with the skin as they skimmed ever so lightly, so  _delicately_ across the surface of his skin. Oikawa's bit his lip.  _Please. Don't make me... never again._ He closed his eyes, tasting iron in his mouth. 

For a soldier, his touch was nothing brusque, nothing rough. Oikawa managed a small smile, at least his fingers remained an artist's. His heart pounded as he willed without success, for it to slow down. 

"Will you let me give you a gift?" Iwaizumi beseeched, looking straight into Oikawa's eyes. 

"Anything you wish, Iwaizumi sama. I will accept." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it me or is this too slow... haha  
> do drop a message and tell me whether this pace is too slow or alright for you !


	4. Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He woke to sunlight shining right into his face. It wasn't the warmth he imagined. In fact, it was burning hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continues on from the very first part of the first chapter. So just a heads-up if there's any confusion. 
> 
> And also Suga is the light of everyone's life. :)
> 
> This chapter is gonna be a good one I promise. No more late night writing.

Iwaizumi looked down upon Oikawa below him. The poppies he had just finished looked absolutely magnificent. Oikawa was resting his head on his arms, trying to recover from the ordeal Iwaizumi had just put him through. He felt a cold spike of guilt and pain in his heart. _At least he will have something to remember me by_. He was worthless. He couldn't do a single thing right by him.

* * *

 

Oikawa's lashes were wet, washed with the tears he had shed from the pain. The pain was purely physical. Or so he told himself. It has been so long since he cried tears. So long. Not since- ... not since the two of them drifted apart. God, he was such a crybaby. Maybe it wasn't all bad when he was alone, at least he learnt to be strong and not let his insecurities and emotions get the better of him. He learnt to protect his heart.

He wondered belatedly what on earth was now permanently imprinted on his back. Could Iwaizumi be taking his revenge? Could he have disfigured his beautiful back?! He felt a surge of panic coming on. He twisted his neck around as best as he could without jostling himself - his back still ached, the skin felt extremely tender- “Iwa chan? What's on my back?” Slipping into informality with Iwaizumi was so unbelievably easy.

It scared him. Even more so was that he did not mean for his words to come out like that, he did not mean to call him ‘Iwa chan’. Although it hadn't been that long since they met by the field of poppies, he had already grown exhausted of the facade he has to keep up, patience worn thin. The truth of his feelings was already threatening to come out, countless words piled up behind his closed lips, surging, one wrong move and everything will come tumbling out. He was sure of it. He almost wanted them to. Then maybe he'll feel better, relieved of this heaviness he carried deep inside his chest for years.

The truth was this: he still loved Iwaizumi.

And he did not have any idea if he could stop loving him, he did not know if he wanted to _stop_ loving him. Loving hurts but not loving hurts just the same, if not more. He sighed deeply.

“Poppies.”

He realised that Iwaizumi was just answering his question.

“Poppies?” He faltered.

“They are your favourite. Are they not?” Iwaizumi was straightforward as always.

He looked straight at him. Eyes filled with something foreign and unrecognisable to Oikawa. “Say… Oikawa…” This time the tremble in Iwaizumi's voice was real. “I know too many things have happened or rather, nothing has happened for these past years and I apologise for not trying harder to fight for us to be together but-” his voice broke, clearing his throat, he tried again, “but, I missed the closeness we shared, our relationship with one another, it was unique and you were my best friend. You still are…” he trailed off.

He had said it all in one breath and now the silence and the sound of him catching his breath filled the still air surrounding them. “What are you trying to say?” Oikawa breathed as he stared up at him, light brown eyes looking straight at his face. He did not dare. _Don't Hope Don't Hope Don't Hope_ he chanted repeatedly in his mind.

Iwaizumi's eyes seemed to burn with an ember. “Nothing.” His tone has grown cold as ice, yet his eyes blazed. Without warning, he hauled Oikawa up, grabbing at his arm, until there was only mere inches between them. His grip will leave a smouldering print on Oikawa's skin. He was sure of it. Oikawa grew deathly still as he dragged his eyes up to meet Iwaizumi's. He could see every vein of colour in his irises, his pupils were dilated, so deep and dark and black. Unfathomable, bottomless. He wet his lips, tongue darting out for a single moment- the action completely unmissable, at this distance.

“Remember start of high school?” His voice was gravel, individual pieces of it creating friction against one another. Oikawa could only widen his eyes a fraction, he was otherwise immobilised, and that was all that was needed for Iwaizumi to see. They were so close. So painfully close.

“Let's do that again. I will come tomorrow.” No room for an answer. He was not asking for permission. Oikawa knows in his heart that Iwaizumi would never have to. If it was his word, Oikawa would wholeheartedly follow. That will never change. Yet it sent a sharp bolt of pain through his chest. What Iwaizumi was asking for and the way he asked it. His disregard for Oikawa. He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. Craves for the taste of blood, metal and rust.

With that, he releases his hold and swept out of the room like an errant gust of wind, come and gone.

Oikawa chest heaved, he felt them coming and tried his best not to let a single drop escape, he furrowed his brows, clenching hard. Teeth at his bottom lip, chewing hard. He would rather bleed than cry. His fingernails scratched pink half moons onto each palm, just shy of drawing blood. He realised that he was still half naked, numbly, he reached down to draw up his yukata, wincing as he did so.

He looked down and noticed. He thought there would be a burn mark left, seared deep into his skin. But all he saw was the barest indentation of finger marks, fading right before his eyes. Disappearing. Somehow, he was left feeling a sense of loss and disappointment.

_What was all of that about? What did he mean? And why- why must he do this, all these to me?_

He shall refuse him when he comes tomorrow. He must.                                           _Be strong, my heart_.

He lay down on the floor again, cheek pressed against the tatami, too emotionally exhausted to care. He was like a thread worn bare. So impossibly thin. Maybe he would just fade away, unnoticed. That would be better. His ruminations carried him deep into the recesses of his mind, as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. He thought he heard the sound of children's laughter, felt the warmth of bright sunlight kissing his skin, his tiny hand grasped tightly within a slightly larger one. But it was all in his mind. The darkness spread over his vision like a drop of watercolour accidentally spilled onto paper. 

 

He woke to sunlight shining right into his face. It wasn't the warmth he imagined. In fact, it was burning hot. He shot upright. His back stung a little but it felt alright, he unsteadily climbed to his feet, one hand massaging the crick in his neck from sleeping in such an awkward position the whole night. He felt like a downright mess as he rolled his eyes at himself. Every single promise he made to himself because of Iwaizumi was broken within the span of a few hours just yesterday. _Good job, Tooru. Good job._

He trudged to the bathroom, each footfall felt like it weighed a ton. And- he cringed as he looked into the mirror. He was a _mess_. Still good looking and beautiful Oikawa Tooru but nevertheless a mess. His sleep mussed hair went in opposite directions, even more so than usual and his eyes looked red and a little bit swollen. He sighed loudly. Today was going to be a great day.

He washed up and took a bath, a cold one, or as cold as the water could get, hot weather and all. As he got out, he saw a flash of red, a red familiar to him as his own artwork was. Fully turning his back towards the mirror he drew in a surprised gasp. They were real. He could swear on his sweet mother's soul that they were real. And very much alive, right there on his back. _Where...did he find that shade of red? I mixed fervently and I could never find the exact shade. I was never satisfied with the colour. How…?_

He was mildly disgruntled. Iwaizumi was always the one who had the uncanny knack for identifying the difference between shades of colours. No matter how similar they looked, if they were different, he could tell. He was the one who had the sensitivity, as fine tuned and well honed as his military instincts. Maybe that's why he excelled in spying and picking out enemies on the frontline, with his eye for detail, sniping at them easily from a distant tree, a building, any place higher than ground level and he would have the ultimate advantage. Oikawa was not especially looking out for news of Iwaizumi, he just knew stuff, heard stuff from the streets, it did not hurt to keep his ear out for the mention of Iwaizumi's name when he was out in the marketplace. Iwaizumi was _famous_ after all.

The tattoo was impeccable. Beautiful and seamless and realistic. Much like Iwaizumi was. After ensuring his hair was impeccable too, he wrapped on his fundoshi and stepped out of the bathroom into the corridor, in search for a fresh light yukata to put on. At the same time, “TOORU!” rang out. Oikawa jumped so hard it was visible from several metres away. He heart was in his mouth and he fought to swallow it back in, willing it to restart its constant rhythm.

“Oh my god Suga!” he exclaimed. “Do not. Never scare me like that again. NEVER.” He whipped around, glaring at his best friend. But Suga was swift and he had already scurried behind Oikawa, whispering “boo!” in his ear as he passed. “What I meant to say was, Tooru, your back! Oh my goodness, what is this? It's absolutely gorgeous! They're the same as the ones from your beloved painting right? Right?!”

He curiously traced a petal with a gentle finger and it sent shivers skating down Oikawa's spine. He slapped Suga's hand away, “stop that! It feels weird!” But Suga, being ever perceptive; he was like Oikawa in that respect, was already thinking. The gears in his head were turning as he put two and two together, eyeing his back sharply. Oikawa could not have done the tattoo himself. Definitely not. It was set right in the dead middle of it, encircling the bottom half of each shoulder blade, going around the small of his back and ending close to the waistline. It was perfect. And he has an idea who was the artist. “It was Iwaizumi.” There, he said it, and it was not a question, without a hint of doubt. All certainty and sureness in his voice. Oikawa shut his eyes tight, lips pursed, then he opened them. Suga’s eyes were unnaturally bright as they drilled right into him. _Damn_. Suga was scary sometimes.

He laughed aloud, his eyes flitted away.

“Ha ha. Suga.” He took quick steps into his room. He yanked his wardrobe door open, clutching at the first piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Suga was hot on his heels. Looking at him knowingly. “Ha ha.” he simply echoed. The yukata was royal purple, the colour deep and rich, contrasting beautifully against the poppies on his back as he shrugged it on. He drew in a breath, turning around to face Suga, “..-”

“It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything.” Suga cut in before even a single syllable escaped. He smiled sweetly up at Oikawa and then smoothly elbowed him in the ribs without so much as a waver in his expression. “Suga!” Oikawa gasped. Grabbing at the thin air where he once stood as the silver haired mischief ran out of the room. “I made tea!” He laughed as he went.

“Great.” Oikawa mumbled, smirking to himself. Suga was good for him, he could already feel the dark tendrils built up in his heart from last night dissipating. Dissolving into warmth and laughter and fiery sunlight streaming in from outside. It did not mean that they would not return. But that was for another day. _Not today_. At least not now. He has won, for now.

With a grin on his face, he left his room. He has things to do and it was going to be a long day. But until then, he was going to be okay.

And also, tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was extra long, how did I manage to do it though haha.  
> I hope you liked it :) 
> 
> Feel free to drop me a comment or any feedback I will be ever thankful
> 
> or click 'kudos' haha (just kidding, or am I not?)


	5. Burgundy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi must not love him anymore. Love is a feeling. It can fade, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG IT'S 2K16 GUYSSS
> 
> Thank you for every comment and kudo you have ever given me, I really appreciate them and they're really encouraging for me :') 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is slightly NSFW.

No amount of tea could help him deal with what he was about to face. The cast of sunlight from outside was already slanting, carving diagonal lines into the furniture, painting everything in a cheery orange glow.

Oikawa did not feel that much cheery himself.

In fact, he was on the verge of panicking as he tightly clasped the cup of tea that had already gone cold between his two hands. Night was approaching, _fast_.

And he still had no idea how to reject Iwaizumi.

 

There was a time, at the start of high school when he realised he was deeply attracted to his best friend. Found himself stopped short whenever he saw Iwaizumi flash a rare bright grin, holding his own breath without realizing it himself. He found that he could not seem to look away from those dark eyes of his which seemed to shine with a light from its depths. By the end of the day, he knew he had somehow developed feelings for Iwaizumi. Oikawa was not stupid.

Then, it was also the time when their age made them reckless in every aspect. Oikawa could not bear to confess his emotional desires, so he turned to the physical part of his wants.

He asked Iwaizumi to do it with him. Iwaizumi being Iwaizumi was curious about the whole process and at the same time unsure about his own sexuality, so he agreed.

The first time, it was hot and painful and awkward. The first time, they became one. The first time, Oikawa got hurt. He never knew his heart was so fragile.

The second time, it was sweaty and bothered and better. It hurt too, the second time. Yet he was uncertain and unsure of himself and his own feelings. He had too much to lose.

The fifth time, they were doing it rough and starting to get used to the routine. This time, it was exciting and wonderful and it left the both of them red-faced and gasping for air. It was good. By now, he was able to feel pleasure over the pain. He fell in love even harder with Iwaizumi the fifth time, as he stared up into his face during sex. Saw the immense bliss cross his face as he came, sweat dripping, eyes scrunched tight, grunting Oikawa's name, low in his throat. It buried deep, straight into his chest. He felt the warmth spread and at the same time a deep ache followed right behind. He was no stranger to it. Still, it made him gasp.

Oikawa was a coward. A coward who would rather suffer in silence, for fear of the rejection and sympathy he would receive from Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi could not possibly be in love with him. He wanted a single thing, but he could lose everything. It was not worth it. 

They did this for a period of three months. Oikawa's body barely felt the pain of being entered anymore, but every time, his heart felt it all.

When Iwaizumi finally figured it all out, Oikawa was already hung out to dry, so battered and bruised he was. He only found out how much it really hurt when he stopped hurting. Iwaizumi had to nurse his heart back to health, little bit by little bit. All of his hurt was accumulated, day by day, and was stubborn to leave. Iwaizumi beat Oikawa up when he learned the truth, then apologized profusely, laying soft kisses all over Oikawa- on his forehead, his nose, his neck, his hand. Oikawa could only smile softly. “It's okay Iwa chan, you don't have to feel sorry. I was the idiot.”

Iwaizumi loved him. That was enough.

 

There was a loud rap on the door.

Oikawa started awake from his light sleep- he must have dozed off. He could almost taste the wisps of the dream he just had. He could not exactly remember his dream, only that he was left with a sense of painful nostalgia and profound sadness. He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly as he lay his cup down. The sharp rap came again. “Coming!” He called as he shuffled towards the door, wondering how long the person must have knocked to have woke him up. He grabbed the handle and drew it open.

“Who- _oh_.” A shriveled little sound of realisation escaped. He had forgotten. But now as he remembered, the previous anxiety returned. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, on the verge of saying something,  _anything_ to reject him.

But his words betrayed him, fleeing from the tip of his tongue. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at him and took a decisive step forward. Oikawa flinched. _Tooru. Are you insane? You did not just flinch at Iwaizumi. Tell him to go back. You're not doing this again_.

“Iwa-”

“Yes?” Iwaizumi replied shortly.

Oikawa lost his nerve again. When it comes to Iwaizumi, he could never be his normal self.

“Any drinks? Water? Tea?” Oikawa tried again.

“No thank you. You know what I came here for.” He was blunt and direct as usual.

Oikawa blanched. He was his cowardly self once again. “Bedroom then?”

A coward will always be a coward.

“Bedroom.”

Oikawa’s heart started to hammer in his chest.

 

Iwaizumi kicked off his shiny black knee length riding boots with surprising ease once they got into the bedroom. His hands then reached up to undo the rows of buttons on the front of his uniform coat. There was something sensual and so very alluring about the way he disrobed. Oikawa felt his heart flutter with every piece of clothing that came off. Oikawa froze. Iwaizumi's voice was just as he remembered. Velvet smooth and deep. It felt like no time had passed at all, yet at at the same time, it felt like forever since they met. Oikawa stood still, turning his back to face Iwaizumi. His throat was dry and his tongue felt heavy. with Iwaizumi here, Oikawa could see all the time they spent together. The happy moments and the not so happy ones. The faint smudges of his memory brought into full colour and painfully fine detail. When Iwaizumi laid his hands on him, he almost burst into tears. The feeling of it was too close for comfort, all too familiar and all too unbearable.

He raised both arms and pushed at Iwaizumi's unyielding chest. “Iwa- I-I can't do this. Not like this.” His heart was beating lightning fast, he could hear the echoes of the heartbeat pounding in his head.

“What do you mean? You know you _like_ this.” came Iwaizumi's cold reply.

There was no escape from this. How could Iwaizumi be so cruel? He gripped Oikawa's arms harder and pushed him onto the bed. His hands reaching into the folds of his yukata, sliding over the smooth plane of Oikawa's bare chest. Oikawa shivered helplessly from the warmth of those rough palms.

He suddenly remembered his dream. It dug deeply into him, piercing pain filling his heart just as he felt a sharp nip at his ear and an invading finger circling at his entrance. He moaned. “No! No- don't!” Iwaizumi ruthlessly inserted it, plunging deep until his knuckle. Oikawa clenched tight around the intrusion. Tears sprang to his eyes as a second finger was added. It has been ages since he had done it and it _hurt_.

“Here,” Iwaizumi held out two fingers from his other hand to him. His eyes were black, gaze flat, revealing nothing. Like two dead pieces of onyx stones. Oikawa gave another shudder, his body was starting to accommodate the fingers scissoring inside him, the memory of the pleasure of it coming back. He obediently opened his mouth and took the fingers in, sucking and licking gingerly at them.

He gave another moan as one finger found its destination and the second finger joined it, pressing hard on his sweet spot. He gasped from the sharp pleasure, vision flashing for a second. He sucked harder. Iwaizumi's fingers within him were brutal, transforming Oikawa into a sweaty mess of shivers and desperation.

“Iwa chan!” he cried loudly.

For a moment. Everything stood still. Iwaizumi seemed to take in the Oikawa before him for the first time since he met him at the door with clarity. His head was tilted into the pillow, digging into the softness, eyes blown wide. Face sweating and crimson blush colouring his cheeks and ears. The dishevelled state of his yukata, the ribbon pulled loose and the fabric fanning open, revealing milky pale skin which contrasted beautifully with the royal purple of it and the tip of a pink nipple peeking out. His mouth went dry and he swallowed. What had he done to Oikawa? His heart clenched excruciatingly. He was too cruel, what possessed him to do this to Oikawa…?

“Iwaizumi…?” Oikawa turned his eyes onto him, a faraway look in their depths. He had noticed Iwaizumi's falter, his painful hesitation.

_No. It is too late to turn back. Finish what you started._

Everything after that happened in a haze of pleasure mixed with pain, for the both of them. Iwaizumi withdrew his fingers and replaced it with his painfully hard member, shoving it into Oikawa unceremoniously and without a warning. Oikawa positively howled. It was quick for the both of them. It had been so long since they felt like this and the new found novelty made it feel unexpectedly and incredibly pleasurable. Both of them came thick and fast.

After that, Oikawa lay on his side, back bowed, curling into himself. He felt so thoroughly exposed, heart laid raw and bare, years old wound clawing back to the surface. He thought he had buried it well, but Iwaizumi easily tore it out by its roots, a dark burgundy bloom, the colour deep as bloodstain, blossoming with each stabbing heartbeat. A festering flower of his emotions.

 _At least it is not shaped like a poppy._ He thought bemusedly.

He felt truly used and spent. Iwaizumi did not hold back. _But, what was that just now…_ He gingerly turned to look at Iwaizumi who was wrestling with his boots, muttering darkly about how easy it was to pull them off as compared to wearing them. As if he sensed Oikawa's gaze, he snapped his neck up and stared back at him, maintaining eye contact. His face was a mask made of the hardest stone, absolutely impassive. Oikawa could not glean anything from his expression.

 _So much for being ‘childhood friends’_. He scoffed mirthlessly at himself. Things have changed between them. Iwaizumi must not love him anymore. Love is a feeling. It can fade, too. He tried to ignore the wrenching twist his heart gave at the notion. He shut his eyes tight and drew a deep breath to calm himself. 

“Hey Iwa chan~” he drawled, tone lighthearted, “could you do me a favour and help me get a fresh set of clothes?” He put on a bright smile.

“Get it yourself, idiot!” Iwaizumi shot back. He stopped himself short so quickly that he bit his own tongue. He forgot. It was really too scarily easy to lapse back into old habits. “Of course.” He fled from the room.

Oikawa stared at his retreating back, eyes wide. _Don't. Don't hope. He isn't the same person. All the military stuff has made him cruel and cold. He isn't Iwa chan. So don't._

He could not help himself from giving in to a sliver of hope. It was that powerful, the urge to wish and want and expect for something- something almost unattainable. Still he had to hope. It was the only thing left to do.

Iwaizumi returned with a turquoise yukata and clean underwear. He helped Oikawa dress, feeling pained and extremely guilty over the small winces Oikawa tried hard not to give. Oikawa was silent the whole time, he looked almost shell shocked.

“ _Turquoise is my favourite colour, Tooru!” He gave a wide gap-toothed grin. “I bet it'd would suit you well! You will definitely look pretty in it!” He laughed heartily. Oikawa found out Iwaizumi was right years later when he got the yukata. He had smiled sadly. Of course. Iwaizumi would never be wrong when he judged colours, even at a young age_ _._

It must be on reflex Iwaizumi chose the turquoise yukata. Only that and nothing more. It was his favourite colour after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha... so... was it too much of NSFW or too little? Because I didn't want to write it full out or else this fic becomes explicit. Please do leave a comment to tell me if it's alright (this degree of NSFW - ness) or just to offer some suggestions :)

**Author's Note:**

> \\(@_ @)/ updates should be about weekly but I'm horrible so ... no promises. I still don't know why I started this fic but if you liked it kudos mean love.  
> you can also yell at me in the comments.


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